Well, it’s here: My due date. The day I would have said my first “hello” to my sweet little boy had I not said “goodbye” to him on May 15.
I shared with a sweet friend who implored about my feelings on the matter that I am surprised that the overriding emotion is not grief, sadness, or anger, but rather disappointment. I had expectations that were not and will not be met.
I expected to have a smooth, uneventful pregnancy but had a high-risk pregnancy that went undetected.
I expected to bond with my baby, feeling him wiggle and maneuver inside of me, but I felt a phantom kick just one time.
I expected to take beautiful maternity pictures around 30 weeks of pregnancy, but I had family pictures with a not-so-round belly home to a lifeless child.
I expected to celebrate a gender reveal with my family on May 14, but I called to share the news of the loss and we gathered instead to mourn.
I expected to have my family gathered together again at Northside Hospital to welcome our precious gift, but we are spending time together in Ohio unsure of how to pass the time without dwelling on the significance of the day.
I expected to give birth to a healthy, beautiful bundle of joy on September 23, but I’m holding just a memory of his tiny, frail body.
I expected to embrace my healthy baby with exhausted yet unadulterated joy, but instead I embrace family and friends who help us deal with the disappointment.
I never expected to bury a child before my 24th birthday, but that’s exactly what I did.
Disappointed I am, but defeated I am not. I expect today to be a pleasant, meaningful day. because I am a child of the King who loves me and gave Himself for me. He has a plan in all that happens in my life, and I expect the end result to be wonderful even as there are disappointments along the way.
For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end (Jeremiah 29:11).
Mommy loves you, Ezra.